A Slice Of Mother's Day

On the gorgeous Mother’s Day Sunday I headed for North Salem, NY, to the Old Salem Farm Spring Horse Show. My fifteen year-old grand daughters (cousins) were both competing. My son and daughter would be there. This was going to be a good day!

 The only kicker in the deal was that I was driving myself to N. Salem. Knowing me, and my hopeless direction impairment, my daughter had emailed me detailed directions to the show grounds: “Turn left at the farm stand that has a large pink ice cream cone sign in front of it.” etc.

I can do this, I thought, as I printed out her directions. Motivation is everything and I wanted to be there.

And I did fine until, whoops! I came to the end of a road and faced a yellow sign with a glaring black arrow pointing both right and left. I hadn’t a clue. I searched my paper. No such sign was mentioned.

 Steering the car off the tarmac onto a roughly graveled patch, I stopped--so annoyed with myself. Stuck again for the millionth time in my life. Breathe in and out, I muttered, as I rummaged through my pocketbook for my cell phone and dialed my daughter.

Forgive yourself: forgive yourself, I thought, as Taylor’s phone rang.

Such relief when she answered!

“There’s this big yellow sign and I don’t know which way to turn.” I said, trying to keep my dismay out of my voice.

“You are almost here, Mom. Take the left and follow the road. You will see the show, but you will have to go past the grounds to the parking lot on the left. A policeman will be there and he’ll show you where to park.”

She was right. I passed the grounds teeming with spectators and girls astride gleaming horses in fenced, circular rings scattered with flower-decorated jumps. The hilly acreage of Old Salem Farm was green and lush, landscaped with lovely trees, many now in bloom.

A large, paunchy policeman waved me into the uphill parking field. Stopping the car in front of him, I rolled down the window and asked him where he wanted me to go.

“I don’t want you to have to walk too far,” he said, taking in my grey hair. “So why don’t you turn right here and back up this hill?”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I looked at the short, but steep hill I would have to back up and then, gauging the turn forward that I would need to make, I slowly moved ahead.

My careful calculations elicited a friendly, “Can you reverse?” He was clearly prepared to jump in and do it for me.

“Yes!” I called out the window, as I did just that. I can’t find any place, ever, but I can reverse. Done! I was perfectly parked right at the entrance to the lot already packed tightly with cars. What luck! What kindness.

 “I’m here!” I told Taylor on the phone. “Right in front by the road.”

“I’ll send Hannah to get you. Just wait for her.”

“Great!”

I got out of the car and walked to the edge of the road to watch for my grand daughter.

The policeman approached me. “You can take the shuttle into the grounds,” he offered, pointing at a black van behind us.

“Thanks—and thanks for the wonderful parking place—but my grand daughter is coming to get me.”

We both stood, looking down the road.

“And there she is!”

“That’s your grand daughter?” I could see him taking in her fifteen year-old slender form, the smiling pretty face, her long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, the tight tan jodhpurs and riding boots.

“Yup!” I took off across the street, waving both my arms triumphantly in the air. "I made it!" I yelled. 

Hannah returned my waves and we sped along the grassy edge to meet each other. We hugged, laughing together, and with our arms around each other, walked back toward the show.

I was sure that the paunchy policeman was watching us and smiling.

***

Thoughts and Prayers

We continue to pray for the more than 200 girls kidnapped by the Muslim militants, Boko Haram, that are they are found and safely returned to their families.

We hold in our hearts the families of the hundreds of coal miners who have died or are still missing in the disastrous explosion in Soma, Turkey.